


you haven't played since we were twelve

by mythic_bitch_0



Series: bare: flashbacks [1]
Category: bare: A Pop Opera - Hartmere/Intrabartolo
Genre: Bruises, Gen, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 07:48:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16970643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mythic_bitch_0/pseuds/mythic_bitch_0
Summary: Even the darkest and worst secrets are a little more bearable with your friend holding your hand.This is another flashback scene from the Bare novelization, eighth grade.





	you haven't played since we were twelve

**Author's Note:**

> "...you have never mentioned baseball, you haven't played since we were twelve!" (You & I)
> 
> "...maybe my dad will just kick my ass - smart money says that's his first move..." (Reputation Stain'd)
> 
> "Peter asked me for an easy-bake oven. His father asked me for a divorce. The connection between those two events is as strong as Peter's attraction to my makeup table." (Epiphany)

 

_ Late November, 8th grade _

 

It's funny how much you get to know about someone once you've roomed with them for a whole year. Peter and Jason have seen each other tired, seen each other stressed and angry and worried and excited, and by the the summer after seventh grade was over, they were surprised to find out how much they had missed each other. 

They were happy to be in the same situation again - same dorm, even, because the younger students are always housed away from the high schoolers.

Knowing him like he does though, Peter can tell that something is wrong when Jason and Nadia come back from visiting their parents for Thanksgiving break. Nadia has mostly seemed tired, but Peter doesn't see her as much anyway. It's much harder to keep something from someone you  _ live _ with - he and Jason are both discovering that. Peter might only be thirteen, but he knows when his friend - his  _ best _ friend - is hurt, but he doesn't know how to bring it up.

So one night, when Jason's quiet gets to be too much, he decides to just go for it.

“Jason,” Peter says quietly one evening, right before bed. The sunset is streaming in through the windows, bright on Jason's face, but he's just staring at his desk - staring  _ through _ it, really - and he doesn't respond.

“Jase?”

There's still no answer, and so Peter walks over to Jason's side of the room and touches him on the shoulder. “Hey. Jason.”

Jason snaps up straight, surprised, and one of his hands flails wildly, catching Peter in the mouth.

“Ouch!”

“I'm sorry!” Jason says immediately, turning to Peter, “I'm so sorry.” He grabs him by the shoulders and guides him to his bed, sitting next to him. “God, I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Peter says, rubbing the sore spot. “It's okay. We've had worse in gym.”

“Jesus. Sorry. You scared me.”

“I didn't mean to,” Peter says quietly. “But Jason, I just...I wanted to know...is everything okay?”

Jason's smile is odd, lopsided, not Jason's smile at all and Peter hates the sight of it. “’Course it's fine,” Jason says, his tone strange and flat. “Why wouldn't it be?”

“I dunno,” Peter says, because he really doesn't know. “Something with your parents, I guess? Over break?”

Jason shakes his head, but his blue eyes look - surprised. Like he never expected someone else to see this. To know him like this. To care.

Normally Peter wouldn't press. It isn't his business. But this is  _ Jason _ , who gives him tips in gym so he won't be helpless.  _ Jason _ , who studies with him and is so easy to get along with that everyone likes him and Peter, by extension.  _ Jason _ .

“Because you could tell me,” Peter continues, trying not to sound nosy, trying not to pressure. “You could tell me anything and I would - I would never tell. I keep secrets.”

Peter can see Jason's resolve wavering, his teeth nibbling on his pink lips, so he keeps talking, mostly just repeating himself, but he knows Jason is softening. “If there was something you told me, no one else would ever know. You wouldn't have to worry. Not Father, or our friends or - or even Nadia. Because you're my best friend.”

Jason's voice still sound strange, the syllables overstuffed with pain. “You won't - you swear?”

“You could even tell me,” Peter suggests quietly, touching Jason's arm, “and tell me to forget it about it afterwards, and I'll never bring it up again. I just don't want - you've been so sad lately.”

This is all he can do, all he has to offer him, and for a moment Peter thinks it isn't going to work, that whatever is bothering Jason is too big for him to share, but just as he's about to squeeze Jason's shoulders and tell him it'll be okay, Jason's soft voice begins to speak.

“I don't wanna go out for baseball this spring,” he says, and the words are so unexpected Peter has to stop and process them. “And my dad wants me to.”

There's a shaky breath, a cross between a laugh and a sob. “He  _ really _ wants me to.”

Peter struggles to understand. It makes no sense. “So you just - you argued with your dad about baseball?”

“I guess.” Jason stops again.  

Peter reaches out on a strange whim and grabs Jason's hand. It feels cold and clammy, so unlike Jason. “Tell me, Jase.” There's nothing romantic about the gesture, of course, but Jason somehow gathers resolve from it - from knowing someone cares so much. 

He stares straight ahead at the wall, not a glance towards Peter, not a word, and he lifts the soft white t-shirt he likes to wear with sweatpants to bed and reveals a constellation of greenish, fading bruises tracking across his ribs, his torso.

Peter sucks in a gasp but he recognizes if he freaks out, if overreacts or _cries_ or anything, that will be the end of their trust, their connection. But his best friend. His _best_ _friend_ , covered in bruises.

“Your dad did that.” It's not a question, so Jason doesn't answer, just stares at the wall in that horrible, distant way. “Is...was this the first time?”

Still resolutely not staring at Peter, Jason shakes his head slowly.

“A lot? It happens a lot?”

A shrug.

When Peter can't think of anything to say - other than “I'm sorry” - some type of anger seems to rise in Jason and he pulls himself roughly away from Peter, stalks across the room and throws himself on his own bed.

“You know now. Are you happy? You - you  _ made _ me tell you, and I've never told  _ anyone _ . So, there. Happy now?” 

Peter is there, following Jason across the room in an instant. Jason is laying on his side on the bed, facing the wall, and Peter touches his back.

“No. No, I'm not happy. I won't tell. I promise. I just...wanted you to tell because I...you're my best friend, and I want you to be happy.”

Peter eases into the bed and hugs Jason. It's a small bed, but they're both small too, and they fit into it easily. Jason is making a weird coughing sound that it takes a few minutes for Peter to identify as stifled sobs.

“I just don't want to do  _ baseball _ ,” Jason weeps. He's so ashamed of himself. Thirteen years old, crying.  _ Crying _ ! That's exactly what his dad had said, too, and he's right. He _is_ a crybaby. Sissy. Pussy.  _ Useless _ .

Peter doesn't know very much about this except how horribly wrong it is. His mom  _ loves _ him and would probably never even slap him, let alone anything like _this_. Peter knows enough to know he can't fix this, but he can tell Jason he's not alone.

“My parents got divorced when I was eight,” Peter starts, and before Jason can snap  _ so what? _ he continues. “The day I turned eight. He just left. He didn't want us anymore. He thought…”

It's embarrassing. It's  _ awful _ , and he's never told any other person, but he has to give Jason something, a piece of trust, a portion of his own pain, to show him it's okay for things to hurt. At this age, there's no way Peter would have been able to explain this, to explain his approach and why he felt this would help Jason, but instinct has always been on his side with him.

“My dad didn't like how my mom was raising me,” Peter pushes on softly. “Mom says there were lots of things.  _ Lots _ of reasons he didn't...he didn't want us anymore. But I heard them fighting...and he called me...he called me a fag.”

Jason isn't crying, but at the word he has gone still, still as a stone.

“That my mom was making me...making me bad, I guess. Making me...you know.” Peter's face is flaming. “I never...I never even told her I heard. Never.”

Jason rolls onto his back on the bed, and so Peter rolls too, so they're on their backs, shoulder to shoulder. Side by side.

“It's not  _ just _ baseball,” Jason admits. “It's  _ everything _ . The smallest thing. He - they both never want us around, and if I do something he doesn't like…”

“Oh, man.”

“If it was  _ just baseball _ I would just do the stupid baseball team. But if it's not that, it'll be something else next time. Some other reason.”

Peter has an odd feeling in his chest, something he's never felt, never even experienced or understood before. It is anger, no, beyond anger -  _ rage _ , a horrible, swelling rage. How  _ dare _ they? How  _ dare _ they do this to Jason, hurt him, hit him, when he's his  _ best friend? _ Peter pictures the way the blows must have landed to produce those bruises, and for a moment he is so angry he can't even see.

“ _ Fuck _ them,” Peter says fiercely, the word feeling strange on his tongue, maybe the first time he's even said it. “Fuck _ him _ . Hey - come stay with me for spring break. Okay?”

Jason pauses. “You...do you mean that?”

“Yes. My mom...my mom will be so happy, you know. That I have friends. Especially someone like you.”

Jason sits up and rubs his face, and they both pretend it isn't to hide any traces of tears. “Why wouldn't you have friends?”

Peter is red faced again, embarrassed, but he thinks of how much Jason has told him. “What - what my dad said, I guess. That people wouldn't like me because he thought I acted...you  _ know _ .” The last word comes out in a whisper, a hush of shame, and Jason shakes his head.

“Thats stupid. Lots of people like you.”

Neither of them can make anything better - they can't take back the horrible words Peter overheard from his own father, can't bring him back from his new and improved family  at all. They can't stop John McConnell from taking his anger and frustration out on his son, from demanding perfection. But they're here for each other, now. They're not alone. 

Peter has felt secret shame ever since he heard his father spit that horrible word at his mother, the same shame that Jason feels every time another blow lands on his body, but even the darkest and worst secrets are a little more bearable with your friend holding your hand.

They get ready for bed and turn the light out, climbing into their beds and getting ready for sleep. They're subdued, certainly, not as lighthearted and easygoing as they were before break, but somehow, the dark mood that has plagued their room since Jason returns seems to have lifted.

Peter is almost asleep when he hears Jason. “Hey, Peter?”

“Mm?”

“You know I don't think you act weird. Your dad is stupid.”

“I know.”

“I - I like you the way you are.”

“You too, Jase. I'll always be your friend.”

“Always, okay?”

“I swear.”

There have been so many times, in the past year and a half, where Jason has been there for Peter. As angry as this makes him, as much as it fills him with a foreign rage and he hates it, he likes knowing that sometimes, every now and then, Jason needs him too.

He likes knowing he can help, he can calm and soothe and be there for someone he - and this is the first time, the very first time this word comes into his head - _loves_.

**Author's Note:**

> For more updates on the novelization, follow me on @bluejaye91 or @ifprayerwastheanswer.
> 
> The novelization is a work in progress (these are the flashback scenes from within it) and I greatly appreciate any and all feedback and headcanons. If there's anything you like or want to see, let me know.


End file.
